


I'll do a lot for love (but not that)

by jdphoenix



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-24 23:51:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3788917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Grant refuses to be stabbed for science, and one time Jemma does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (academy AU)

**Author's Note:**

> A _lot_ of people requested "I am not getting stabbed in the name of science" (Darcy's line from Thor 2) from my [MCU prompts list](http://ilosttrackofthings.tumblr.com/post/116600271234/mcu-sentence-prompts) and I foolishly decided to do a five times fic instead of writing one and taking the easy way out. 
> 
> None of these will exist in the same universe and they'll range from fluffy to angsty, so be forewarned. Enjoy!

“I think this might have gotten a little out of hand,” Jemma says.

“No, no,” Fitz disagrees. “You forget, Simmons, that SHIELD is as much an espionage organization as it is a scientific one. Which means, if we want rounded educations, we need to at least be familiar with the techniques taught at Ops.”

The third party in the room scoffs through the tape over his mouth. Jemma’s not quite sure what that’s supposed to mean, but she goes against her instincts to ask, reasoning that if she pretends the man isn’t there, she’s less culpable. (Which is a very hard thing to do, she must say, because he is _very_ attractive. Those cheekbones are certainly - and she’s never used this word before - _dreamy_.)

“And are you expecting him to teach you these techniques?” she asks. “Because I sincerely doubt the Ops student you _kidnapped_ \- with _my_ dendrotoxin formula, by the way - will be prone to aiding you in any capacity.”

“Now you know the formula is safe to use on humans!” As if that makes the man tied up in her room - _her_ room, not Fitz’s - okay. Said man does not seem happy about this either. He begins grunting in protest and swaying precariously on the chair he’s attached to.

“It’s gone through animal testing,” Fitz says dismissively. “And I don’t mean he can teach us. I mean, look at what I’ve done! I bested one of Operations’ best! That’s sure to win SciTech the prank war.”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “I highly doubt he’s ‘one of the best’ if you managed to get one up on him.” The man glares at her for that.

“I had my contact over in Communications look into it for me. He’s definitely their top student.”

“You mean your girlfriend over in Communications?” It’s Jemma’s standard response to any mention of Fitz’s “contact” but her heart just isn’t in it tonight.

Fitz ignores the question entirely. “I just need you to keep him here for a few hours - maybe a few days-”

“Days?”

“Until we can get a hostage negotiation going with Ops.”

There is so much wrong with that sentence that Jemma doesn’t know where to begin. “Why here?” she asks finally. “Why not your room?”

“Because where my room has weapon prototypes he can use against me, yours has dangerous chemicals he can spill on himself. And also the girls’ dorms are the last place those meatheads will expect him to be.”

The man’s expression turns incredulous and Jemma really must agree. 

“Thanks, Jemma, you’re the best!” Fitz runs out before Jemma can stop him, leaving her very much alone with the man tied to the chair.

“Hello,” she says, lifting her hand in a wave. It is … really stupid. She’s probably just shamed all of SciTech with that. Possibly all of the Academy considering the way the man’s eyebrows rise. She takes a seat on the edge of her bed close to where Fitz has the chair set up. “If I take that tape off, are you going to scream?”

His chin drops and he looks at her from under those brows. Jemma’s actually not sure if he means _of course he won’t_ or _of course he will_ , but she rips the tape off anyway. He doesn’t even cry out. His jaw works as he stretches out his lips. 

She would greatly appreciate if he stopped drawing her attention to them.

“Are you going to let me go?” 

Jemma bites her lip. That voice is just as attractive as the rest of him. She balls up the tape and tosses it into the bin across the room. “Are you going to retaliate against Fitz for this?”

“Yes,” he says readily. 

“Then I’m afraid not.” She stands to rummage through her desk for a notebook.

“Then I’ll have to retaliate against you too.”

She looks over her shoulder at him. “ _I_ can take care of myself.”

He eyes her warily. “You think I’m gonna let you stab me? Even tied to a chair?”

It takes a moment for her to make sense of that, but then she realizes she’s holding a scalpel in her hand. Wherever did that come from? Fitz must have borrowed something again and thrown her entire organizational system out of balance.

“Actually,” she says, setting the scalpel pointedly atop the desk, “I was considering taking a tissue sample.”

“I’m not getting stabbed in the name of science,” he says. There’s a slight chuckle in his voice that seems to dance down her spine. She really does need to get a hold of herself.

She finally finds a notebook and notes his relief when she leaves the scalpel behind. “But you’ll be stabbed for other things?” she asks, resuming her seat.

He shrugs. “It’s the job.”

She doesn’t think she’ll ever understand that particular facet of SHIELD culture. Getting hurt is a fact of life, yes, but to actively seek it out? It’s madness.

“What?” he asks when she’s silent too long.

“Nothing. I was just thinking how different our two paths to Agent status are, Mister … I’m so sorry, I never caught your name.”

“Best at Ops,” he reminds her.

She smiles, taking a bit of pleasure in insulting his obvious pride. “I’m afraid that doesn’t mean much on _this_ side of the campus.” She lets that sit while she flips to the first clean page in her notebook.

“Of course. Because you’re the science side of the science and espionage organization.” There’s the edge of an insult in that and Jemma looks up sharply. He’s smiling at her. “Jemma Simmons. You’ve already finished three years worth of work and you’re barely halfway through your first. You’re SciTech’s best. Or he is.” He nods towards the door Fitz left through. “There’s some debate about that.”

Like he said, SciTech is the science. Ops is the espionage. It only makes sense that their students would know more about SciTech’s than the reverse. Still, it’s a little daunting to know that this man knows more about her than she does about him. She gets the impression that though he’s the one tied up, she’s the one at a disadvantage here. She’s sure there’s a class at Ops about giving one’s captors exactly that impression, but that doesn’t make her feel much better.

“Grant Ward,” he says with a disarming sort of smile.

“Pleasure to meet you,” she answers with some relief. It really is a very disarming smile.

He pulls ineffectually at the ropes. “Wish I could say the same.”

“Yes, well.” She clicks her pen and readies to write. “How did Fitz administer the dendrotoxin?”

She fills three pages with notes on Ward’s experience and a fourth with potential ways to improve upon the chemical formula. By the time she finishes, the sun is setting and she’s reclined against her pillows. She’s almost managed to convince herself she’s having a normal conversation instead of talking to a kidnapping victim. There’s been no sign of Fitz.

She tosses her notebook to the end of the bed and twists to reach her phone on the nightstand. “I’m going to kill him,” she says, intent upon sending him an absolutely scathing text.

A warm, calloused hand presses firmly over her mouth and she looks up into Ward’s smiling eyes. She didn’t even hear him move. She didn’t even notice him untying his knots.

“Sorry about this,” he says, plucking the phone from her grasp. “I can’t have you warning Fitz I’m coming.” He replaces the phone with a length of rope and begins wrapping it around her wrists. He’s so quick about it there’s no time to fight back or slip away, even though he’s the one working one-handed. “Now, I’m gonna move my hand away and you’re not gonna scream, okay? If you scream, I’ll have to knock you unconscious, and that headache’s gonna be a helluva lot worse than the one your drugs gave me.”

She nods as best she can. He lifts his hand away tentatively and, when she doesn’t yell, moves down to tie her feet. She considers fighting back, but if he really is the best at Ops, she doesn’t stand much chance. Actually, she wouldn’t stand much chance even if he was the worst they had to offer; the physical fitness standards for SciTech students are almost non-existent.

“What are you planning on doing?” she asks.

“To you or to Fitz?” He double-checks his knots and, she’s grateful to note, the tightness of the ropes. She won’t be getting out of this anytime soon, but she also won’t be losing any blood flow or suffering any severe chafing.

“Both, I suppose.”

He grins, wide and toothy. “I’m gonna find your friend and make him pay for this little stunt.” He holds up a hand. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt him physically. Just a little psychological warfare.”

Jemma does _not_ envy Fitz.

“As for you, I’ll leave you here. With a book if you tell me which one you want.” He looks to her overflowing shelves. “If my plan goes exceptionally well, I’ll be back to cut you loose. If not, I’ll be sure to tell Fitz where you are once I’m done with him.”

“How kind of you,” she says dryly.

“You did leave me tied up for hours.” He pockets her phone as he stands. “So? Book?”

She considers her choices. “Red binding, second shelf.” She’s read it before, but she’s been questioning the author’s conclusions recently and a second perusal wouldn’t hurt.

While he grabs that for her, she twists back onto her side and reaches awkwardly between her bed and the nightstand to pluck the latest National Geographic from her magazine rack. Ward looks at the magazine like it’s a personal affront when he brings her the book.

“The magazine is for now,” she says, indicating he should set the book at her elbow. “The book is for if you take too long getting your revenge.”

He drops the book and the mattress shakes at the concentrated weight. “I could just forget to tell Fitz you’re here.”

“You wouldn’t do that.” She looks up from the magazine. “Would you?”

He considers for long seconds, even bending close to reassess her. She has the silliest thought that he might kiss her. “To him? In a heartbeat. To you?” He smiles. “Never.”

He stands abruptly and turns for the door, leaving the air around her feeling thin. He’s almost gone when he snaps his fingers. “Almost forgot. The most important thing.” He comes back to grab the scalpel off her desk, and she is _not_ disappointed. Or, actually, if she is, it’s because now she can’t cut herself free. 

She’s so busy trying to convince herself, that she doesn’t realize he’s not heading for the door until he’s hovering over her.

“Just in case I don’t make it back,” he says, so close she can feel his breath on her lips. And then it’s his lips in a brief but toe-curling kiss. He’s gone before she can catch her breath.

Her book and magazine go sadly unread.

 


	2. (redemption)

Grant has had enough. Forty-six days he’s been putting up with this crap and he’s finally done.

It’s almost shameful. He spent months in that cell, literal _years_ pretending to be an agent of SHIELD, but barely a few weeks of Jemma Simmons tormenting him and he’s cracked. (Somewhere, in the back of his head, Garrett is laughing, telling him he’s gone soft.)

He slams into her office and the door goes rebounding off the wall. He steps aside, kicking it shut to be sure it stays.

Simmons' head doesn’t lift from the notes she’s reading, but she _does_ lift a paper from the edge of her desk and hold it out to him with two fingers. She might actually succeed in pissing him off worse if he weren't able to tell the hand she’s got under her desk is holding a gun.

“What’s this?” he asks, snatching the paper from her.

“Fill that out in triplicate. The original goes to Koenig, copies go to Coulson and myself.”

Grant wills his hands to stop shaking so he can read the damn thing. It’s a request that he be “relieved of duty” in the labs and that Coulson find someone else to take his place.

“I volunteered for this job,” he points out. 

The "job" is human test subject whenever Simmons needs one. He thought it’d help convince her he’s sincere in returning to the team. She still hates him. He thought it’d make her feel sorry for him. She doesn’t even show up to most of the tests. He thought, at the very _least_ , it would get her and Fitz used to him being around! Again, she’s never there, and Fitz has relocated to the garage. But he’s soldiered on for forty-six days, hoping something would change. Nothing has.

"And also?" He waves the paper at her and slaps it back on the desk. “This is obviously fake.” 

She finally deigns to give him her attention. “We’re a fledgling organization, Agent, much of our paperwork has to be made up on the fly. And just because you volunteered, doesn’t mean you’re not leaving me in a lurch.”

He rests his hands on the desk, purposefully leaning over the barrier she’s put between them. “I never said I was quitting.”

Her face goes pale and her mouth thins into a stiff line. He _knew_ she was trying to drive him off. 

“Then what’s with all the…” She gestures around him at the door.

He schools his expression into contrite embarrassment and backs of. He shoves his hands into his pockets, looking at anything that isn’t her. “Do you know why I signed up for this?”

“To lull me into a false sense of complacency after Coulson ordered me not to follow through on my death threat?” She says it so pleasantly. He’s actually proud. “Or do you expect me to believe you genuinely care about the _science_?"

He laughs humorlessly. “You think I-” He shakes his head, allowing himself to smile like he can’t believe she’s so blind. “I’m not letting you _stab_ me in the name of _science_.” There _has_ been actual stabbing actually. Just once and it was barely a flesh wound, but still. He takes a deep, fortifying breath. “I’m doing this because no matter what Coulson says, you deserve your revenge. You all do. So if you’re not gonna be the one to hold the needle or pull the trigger or put the incredibly sharp q-tip in my mouth, then I’ll fill out your damn form.”

She’s not sure what to make of him. She still doesn’t trust him as far as she can throw him, but it's plain on her face that his speech has shaken her.

He snatches the form off her desk and heads for the door.

“Wait,” she says, softly like she doesn’t want him to hear. He does though, and keeps his back to her while he waits for her to go on. He hears the wheels of her chair squeaking along the floor and turns. He’s glad to see her gun stayed under the table, now out of her reach. It’s a big move. 

“You’re right. I don’t believe you,” she amends quickly, “but I’m head of this department and I shouldn’t be forcing my subordinates to deal with the likes of you.” She holds out her hand and he hurries to give her the form. She tears it cleanly in two. “So any future stabbings in the name of science will be done by me personally.”

He smiles lightly. “That’s all I ask.” He’s got her.


	3. (role reversal)

Grant’s never liked Raina much - hell, he bought the first round the night they saw her marched away to federal prison - but this? Even she deserves better.

She’s curled up in the corner of her little quarantine cell, eyes shut tight against the light and body angled towards the door. She’s clutching one of those spines of hers in one shaking fist. There’s blood on it - and not all from where she tore it out of her own body. She’s killed three scientists and a guard already.

She shouldn’t have though. She doesn’t want to live like this, said so herself when they dragged her in. She’s trying to force them to kill her. Unfortunately for her, the doctor in charge isn’t about to let such an interesting specimen get away so easily, and everybody’s more afraid of her than they are of dying.

Speak of the devil, the half-formed reflection of the doctor's face appears in the window next to Grant’s. “I want one of those spines.” She hits him in the chest with a plastic bag. “Not the one in her hand though. A fresh one, one that hasn’t been contaminated.”

Grant looks down at her, then around like he’s expecting someone else to materialize. “I’m sorry, are you talking to me?”

She’s kept her eyes on Raina up till now, too concerned with her new pet project to worry much over the guy she’s sending in there to die, but now she looks up at him like he’s a cockroach she’s found crawling on her wall. 

Jemma Simmons is, without a doubt, the worst person he’s met since starting this damn undercover gig. She’s classic mad scientist material. They say she thinks Frankenstein was thinking too small and Moreau would make a great role model. She’s also one of Whitehall’s favorites - surprise, surprise - and Grant was ordered to request her lab since it’s the most likely to have the intel Coulson’s looking for. (He didn’t because it would’ve looked suspicious, but pecking order landed him here anyway.)

“Are you hard of hearing as well as an idiot, Mr. Ward?” Simmons asks sweetly. “I need one of those spines if I’m to get a complete picture of just what‘s been done to her.” It’s actually more of an explanation that he’s ever heard her give. Even her fellow techs usually don’t get much more than a glare when they're too slow to follow her biddings.

He grits his teeth. “My job is to protect you, I can’t very well do that if I’ve been stabbed in the name of science. And,” he looks around again and, finding no one, leans down to whisper, “it looks like I’m your last line of defense.”

She bristles at the reminder that her reputation has stalled HYDRA’s usually brisk policy about replacing fallen employees. Grant’s pretty sure there are about a dozen guys in the break room right now, fighting it out to see who’s the unlucky SOB who has to come up here with him.

“I want one of those spines,” she says again, her voice dangerously low. It doesn’t escape Grant’s notice that the remaining lab tech has gone still.

He takes a deep breath, calls on the training May gave him for controlling the berserker rage. This situation isn’t gonna be solved with a fight. “And Raina wants to die,” he says simply. “She’s gonna fight tooth and nail against anyone who comes in there until one of them puts her down. Throwing guys in there might give you an idea of how strong she is now, but you’ve already seen for yourself and it’s not much of an upgrade. So unless you want to see your new pet get broken…” He shrugs, leaving it unsaid that he’ll take her out if Simmons sends him in there. Even after all the shit she’s pulled, Raina really doesn’t deserve to be Simmons’ new lab rat, and if she wants to die, Grant’ll give her that much dignity.

Simmons purses her lips and her face goes pale with fury. She turns abruptly to face the window. “I won’t be able to vivisect her if she’s dead,” she muses, “and I _have_ been wanting to test the dendrotoxin on one of them.” She sighs in a final sort of way and waves at the lab tech. He rushes off, presumably to get some dendrotoxin. 

Grant sends Raina a silent apology. If he’d known vivisection was on the table, he might’ve gone in no questions asked.

“Raina,” Simmons says. She’s back at her preferred work station and is flipping through her notes. When Grant doesn’t say anything, she looks up at him. “You know her name.”

Right. He was so busy trying to get out of going in there that he didn’t even think that he’s not supposed to know her. He shrugs, trying to appear casual, and goes back to facing the cell. “We’ve met.”

“Old girlfriend?”

He barks out a laugh. He gives Simmons the side-eye, but she’s still staring, unabashedly curious. “No,” he says firmly. “She spent two days torturing my commanding officer."

Her mouth twitches. He can’t tell if it was going to be a frown or a smile. “And I suppose you took issue with that?”

“Little bit.”

“But you don’t want to kill her.” It’s not a question.

He faces her, smiling like she’s said something amusing when really he’s trying not to freak out. If Simmons starts questioning him, he’s gonna find himself happy to comply by the end of the day. 

She wanders around the edge of the lab, clicking the lock on the door before approaching him slowly. She comes to a stop well into his personal space so she has to tilt her chin to look him in the eye. “I really should apologize. You’re not an idiot. A bit reckless to defy a direct order, but smart enough to talk your way out of it. Impressive.”

“You were going to keep throwing men at her until Whitehall marched down here himself and told you to stop. I figured I’d save him the trip.”

She hums deep in her throat. Her gaze drifts languidly down his face and neck - he can practically feel her eyes like fingers dancing across his shoulders - and lands on his chest. He reminds himself viciously that she’s a monster. She ordered him to his probable death. She’s planning to _vivisect_ Raina.

The reminder doesn’t do much for the pressure he can feel building or the itch to have her fingers actually on him. 

She hums again. “I think we should have sex.”

Her words are so close to his own thoughts that he has to replay them a time or two before he’s sure that’s what she actually said.

“What?” he asks, not caring that it makes him sound more than a little dumb after she just apologized for calling him an idiot.

She smiles indulgently and moves, if possible, even closer. She's so _warm_. How can someone so tiny hold onto so much heat? “I don’t need a man who’s my intellectual equal - they’re all dull as dirt anyway - I want one who isn’t intimidated by my mind or my-” she grins toothily and her hips brush his- “other qualities.”

He’s actually in pain now. If he doesn’t calm down or take off his jeans soon, there’s gonna be a problem.

“Doctor,” he says, and despite his best efforts it comes out ragged. Her eyes light up. Damn her, she’s attractive. If she wasn’t a monster, he might’ve noticed sooner and been able to build up a defense, but now he’s half-hard and can barely think straight. “I’m sure HYDRA has policies about-”

“HYDRA,” she cuts in smoothly, “has always been, first and foremost, concerned with the advancement of the human race. Sometimes that means advances like your old friend in there and sometimes that means the more natural kind. You’re an excellent physical specimen and I’m a genius. The genetics really speak for themselves.”

Yeah, there is no way in hell he wants this bitch to be the mother of his children, but he also really wants to kiss her and to find out what it takes to wipe that self-important smirk off her face and have her begging, gasping his name. The image - and the fact that he actually _wants_ those things - has him horrified.

Some of it must show through on his face because she giggles. Women this evil should not be allowed to giggle, especially when it makes them look adorable. “Don’t worry. I’m not the settling down type myself. I have condoms. But if it’s our benevolent overlords you’re worried about, there’s your defense all lined up. So? Sex?”

Of course the only part of that his brain really latches onto is the S tacked on the end of _condom_. She’s planning more than one time. Fuck it. He hasn’t had sex since that Asgardian bitch and if the last person he’s gonna sleep with is a heartless bitch, at least he’s gonna do her because he wants her.

He grabs her face in his hands and presses his lips to hers in a punishing kiss. She smiles against his mouth, digging her fingers into his hair.


	4. (married AU)

Jemma can’t stop shaking. Her hands are cold. She thinks she might be in shock.

“Jemma?” Grant asks. He brushes her hair out of her face. Her eyes stay fixed directly ahead on lab wall. She can’t seem to move them and it’s a small comfort that he’s likely thinking she _won’t_. “Jem, come on. You’re scaring me.”

Something inside her snaps and she laughs, high and sharp. “ _I’m_ scaring _you_?”

He reels back like she’s struck him. She’d like to. It’s a shock to realize; she’s never been a violent person, but right now she’d like nothing more than to slap her husband. This man she swore to honor, it turns out he has none of his own. He’s been lying to her since the day they met. He’s been working for bloody _HYDRA_ and now he’s kidnapped her for them, brought her to the very people who had Skye shot and Coulson tortured.

When she found out Grant would be on her field team, any worry she might have had for herself vanished. She’s not stupid, she knows there are always threats that no specialist can foresee or stop, but she always felt that so long as he was around, she was safe. Turns out she never really was.

He runs his hands up and down her arms the way he always did after missions where he had to be someone far from himself. She wonders now how far from his real self those characters actually were and how much reality was in the man she knew.

“I know you’re confused,” he says gently, “but you'll see soon enough. I promise. You just have to understand-”

“I do.”

He’s obviously not expecting that. His hands still on her arms and his expression grows wary. “What do you understand?”

“I understand that the man I married, the man I _loved_ , is a lie. I understand that you’re a traitor who’s been manipulating me since the day we met.”

“Aww, trouble in paradise?” Raina. She sashays in like she’s right at home on the Bus. Jemma closes her eyes against a wave of nausea.

Grant’s hands convulse. “Get out,” he all but growls. She’s never heard him use that tone before. It promises pain to anyone who disobeys and breaks her heart as much as any part of this little drama. She finds herself looking at him just to see if there’s been some physical change to accompany the shift in tone. There hasn’t been. He’s still looking at her with those pleading eyes.

“Can’t,” Raina says. She trails a finger along Fitz’s work station. “Garrett wants to get this show on the road.”

Frustration is plain on Grant’s face when he turns away from Jemma. “I’m not done yet.”

Raina looks over his shoulder at Jemma, smiling. “I can see that. If you ask me, it doesn’t look like you’re making much headway.”

“You’re not exactly helping,” he grinds out.

“Headway with what?” Jemma asks. She’s already got a pretty good idea, but Grant’s flinch cements it. “You want me to work for you.”

She pulls away when he tries to touch her face. His hand fists and falls to the table. “You remember when Fitz and I got abandoned in South Ossetia?”

“You weren’t abandoned, we came for you-”

“Right. _You_. Not SHIELD. And you had to break about a dozen regulations to do it. Well SHIELD’s done it before. To a lot of people - _good_ people - and one of them was Garrett. He barely made it out alive and he’s been clinging to life ever since. He’s _dying_ , Jem, and the GH-325 can save him. You’re the only scientist we know of who’s studied it. Skye made it impossible for us to get to your research but I know you’ve got it all up here.” He taps the side of her head, smiling fondly at her. “That’s all we want.”

She thought she was growing hard, that the cold she’s been feeling since finding out about Grant's true loyalties was her heart turning to stone. Turns out it was only turning to ice, and ice can still break. “That’s all you want?” she echoes, unable to keep the hurt out of her voice. “That’s what this is all about? And what? You’ll just let me go once Garrett’s healed?”

“No.” It’s not Grant answering, it’s Garrett. He’s smiling at her from the doorway of the lab.

When she found out about Grant’s family and that Garrett was the only man he considered worthy of the word, she really set her mind to liking him for Grant’s sake. Now she’s sorry she ever wasted her energy.

“We could’ve let you go on your merry way, let you think Grant was dead, but that Skye girl just had to go and encrypt the hard drive. And now that you’re here, we can’t exactly let you leave. I’d be happy to myself, but this whole uprising thing means I’ve got upper management looking over my shoulder. They’re not gonna understand that I let one of SHIELD’s top minds go just because I walked her down the aisle.”

She turns away, not wanting to hear more. She doesn’t want to think about her wedding day or how much of it was a lie. She doesn’t know which would be worse: finding out that Grant married her under HYDRA’s orders or finding out that he _didn’t_.

“I’m sorry that you’re dying, John, I really am, but you know that if I help you now, it will only be that much harder for me to stop the next time you ask. I won’t go down that road. Not with HYDRA.”

Garrett shrugs like he expected as much. “Then we’ll have to go with plan B.” He turns to Raina. “Get one of the samples ready for testing.”

Seeing Raina follow orders doesn’t give Jemma the satisfaction it might have under different conditions. Here and now, it’s a reminder that the man in front of her isn’t the oafish, slightly eccentric man she thought he was. He’s the man Raina was working for when she tortured Coulson and mutilated Peterson and experimented on Chan and God only knows what else. He’s a monster.

“We’re hours from Havana,” Grant says, obviously confused. He must be out of sorts after having come clean to her; he’s usually much more on the ball than this.

Jemma can’t even flinch when Garrett pulls out a knife. She was hoping it would be something a little quicker, but she supposes Garrett wants to save bullets. He smiles at her the same way he always has, with that slightly mocking edge she used to think was the result of Grant marrying someone from SciTech instead of another Operative.

The smile disappears from her vision, replaced with Grant’s broad shoulders. “You gave me your word.”

Garrett laughs loudly. “Oh, kid, you gotta know that’s not worth much, not in our line of work.”

“You promised me you wouldn’t hurt Jemma.”

“Actually, I remember it more as me being half-drunk on cheap champagne at the hotel bar, and you stopping by on your way to the honeymoon suite to _inform_ me that I wouldn’t be hurting Jemma. You still haven’t made that up to me, by the way.” Jemma unconsciously angles herself closer to Grant at the dangerous undercurrent in Garrett’s tone.

“She’s my _wife_ ,” Grant says, so forcefully Jemma’s heart stutters.

“Well then you’ll be relieved to know this isn’t for her.”

Grant pushes Jemma back into the cabinets almost before Garrett finishes speaking.

“Come on, kid,” Garrett says, swiping at Grant’s stomach, “make this easy on yourself.” He makes another slash that catches Grant’s shirt. Grant’s got the best reflexes Jemma’s ever seen, he should be able to dodge more easily than this.

He falls against Fitz’s workstation, his arms heavy against the metal surface. She can see his throat working, like he wants to beg for mercy, but he makes no move to fight back. And, Jemma realizes, he won’t. She’s always known Grant would walk through fire for Garrett, she just never thought that loyalty would bring him here.

“Stop,” she hears herself saying. Garrett lunges. Grant doesn’t move. “Stop!” Jemma can’t see the knife, only Grant’s hand wrapped around Garrett’s wrist. Her heart is in her throat, cutting off her air. Did he stop it in time?

Grant’s eyes are hard, fixed on Garrett, but Garrett throws her a smile as he pulls sharply away, flashing the clean knife at her. She sags against the counter.

“I’ll do it,” she says. “I’ll give you everything I know.”

“Congrats, kid,” Garrett says, patting Grant’s cheek, “she still loves you.” He returns his knife to his belt and leaves, taking at least half the room’s tension with him.

Grant eases away from the table and steps towards her. “Jem-”

“Don’t,” she says quickly, holding out a hand to ward him off. She shakes her head. “Just don’t.”

He sweeps her with a probing glance, ensuring she’s come out of the fight unscathed, and then leaves her to her work with Raina. When he’s out of sight, Jemma screws her eyes shut, determined not to cry in front of the enemy.


	5. (flower power)

There’s a slight pleading whine in Simmons’ voice when she says, “I just need a small sample. Just one flower. And possibly a leaf or two. And the roots, definitely the roots as well.”

They’ve been hiding in the brush long enough that Grant’s memorized the patrolmen’s patterns. So he’s feeling confident enough to take his eyes off them to make sure Simmons isn’t showing any outward signs of injury, the kind that might cause _total insanity_.

“Do you see the heavily armed men out there? The ones between us and your precious flowers?”

“They won’t shoot you,” she says practically. “Those tanks over there hold propane and plants are highly flammable.”

He grits his teeth. _Plants are highly flammable._ He knows, thanks.

It’s, frankly, a miracle that he doesn’t say as much aloud. He’s definitely having some trouble keeping it together on this one.

He had to take down Coulson and Skye back on the Bus, and the only reason he’s alive now - or in his right mind, he should say - is because Simmons shot May in the back.

He was worried, when May fell and he looked up to find Simmons still aiming the ICER his way, that whatever was wrong with them was wrong with her too. (And maybe he was also a little disappointed that May got taken down before he could kill her. She’s always been his biggest threat and her sudden bout of insanity was a perfect opportunity.)

“Are you really you?” Simmons asks, her hands shaking around the ICER.

“If I wasn’t, you wouldn’t be asking that.”

She lets out a sigh of relief that has her sagging against the back of the couch.

“Fitz?” Grant asks, noting the suspicious absence of her other half.

“I had to knock him out.” Her mouth pinches with worry. “He tried to … Whatever’s happened, it’s affecting everyone.”

“Everyone but the two of us.” Whatever this is, it’s probably related to the attacks that brought them here. The same ones that _no one_ is willing to talk about now that help’s arrived. This really might be affecting everyone around here except the two of them, which begs the question: how long is that gonna last?

The silence stretches too long. That’s when Grant realizes just how deep they are in this thing. There’s no Skye making light-hearted comments, no Fitz babbling, no Coulson leading. Not even May standing stoically to one side. It’s just the two of them against something that’s caused the rest of their team to lose their minds.

Simmons is still shaking, her eyes fixed on May’s crumpled body. Grant steps over it and runs his hands up and down her arms to warm her up.

“We’re gonna figure this out, okay?”

“I shot May,” she says plaintively.

He can’t help but chuckle at that. “With an _ICER_. I think she’ll forgive you. _I’m_ the one who knocked her through the briefing room door.”

Her gaze darts to the door, which is now a mess of broken glass on the floor. “I think Coulson is the one you have to worry about there.” The small joke is a huge improvement over the breakdown he was dreading. She can freak out all she wants once this is done, but right now he needs her.

“Yeah, probably. But we gotta get him back first. Any idea what’s causing this?”

Her focus shifts to the middle distance as she takes a slow, deliberate breath. “At this juncture? With absolutely no testing done, whatsoever?”

He nods, gesturing for her to get a move on. The time for tests is later. The time for wild, spur of the moment theories is right the hell now.

“The flowers. The ones on the hillside overlooking the hospital.” Hospital is a pretty strong word for the one room shack that provides medical care for everyone within fifty miles of this place, but yeah, Grant remembers the flowers. “They’re not native to this area. I thought they were just a transplant, brought over by aid workers or missionaries, but what if they’re not? You and I spent all our time inside the hospital, the others could have had contact with the plants that we wouldn’t have.”

She’s right. He saw Fitz and Skye actually playing with some kids around those things, but decides to keep that to himself. The less time Simmons has to freak out over how this is impacting _children_ , the better.

“Can you stop it?” he asks.

“I’m not sure. I don’t even know if it _is_ the plants-”

“But if it is!” he snaps. It’s not her fault. She’s just trying to do her damn job. He fists his hands and tries to push down on the adrenaline that’s threatening to surge. The thought of the others being influenced by some outside force is not helping his lingering rage issues.

Simmons' lips press together so tight they almost disappear. He can actually see her waiting to find out if he’s gonna turn on her like the others did.

“I’m still me,” he says as gently as he can manage.

She nods slowly, still eyeing him warily. “I can try, but we have no idea what we’re dealing with here.”

“It’s a start.” He surveys the lounge. May is still behind him and Skye’s propped up against Grant’s door like a drunk. Coulson is up in his office, hopefully still knocked out, but that won't last long. “Why don’t you go downstairs and get to work? I’m gonna get the others into the Cage.” He squeezes her shoulder and makes to stand, but she grabs his sleeve before he can move. “What? I can’t get any more contaminated after fighting them.”

Her head droops and she looks at the floor. “Of course not. I only …” His mounting frustration cools at the tears in her eyes. “We were running low on gauze in the lab, so I went into the back to restock. I couldn’t have been gone more than a minute, but when I got back…”

He untangles her hand from his sleeve and squeezes tight. “How ‘bout we stick together? Just to be safe?”

The smile she gave him as an answer was a little worn and more than a little worried, but she hasn’t let her composure slip once since then. Which is saying a lot, since he’s still having a hell of a time keeping his and can’t be a whole lot of fun right now.

“I need one of those plants,” she reminds him gently. She’s got on those big doe eyes. She _thinks_ she looks worried - and she does - but more than that she looks helpless, like she’s just waiting for a hero to save her. Garrett’ll laugh his ass off if he ever finds out, but Grant really enjoys being her hero. The praise and accolades and gifts of food he gets on the Bus after a job well done never showed up when he was a solo specialist, getting in and out with as little fuss as possible.

Actually, if Garrett ever finds out about _that_ , he’ll probably dump Grant’s ass in the wilderness somewhere and leave him to get back to civilization on his own, just to toughen him back up.

Grant heaves a sigh and checks where the guards are in their rotation. Simmons' theory is looking to be right. The guards aren’t watching the propane or the buildings so much as they’re guarding the flowery hillside to the south. In addition to the guns she doesn’t seem to think are an issue, he sees quite a few knives and machetes.

“Yeah, well, I’d rather not get stabbed either,” he grumbles. “Stay here.”

He’s barely moved when her hand lands on his shoulder. “Grant.” She pulls back and her eyes waver. “Be careful, all right?”

He catches her hand out of the air and gives it a squeeze. “I’m not gonna leave you alone. I promise.”


	6. (distraction)

Science never sleeps. Jemma has that on a pillow. She practically lived by it for most of her educational life. Still does, which is why - after a day involving a super-powered terrorist group, the incapacitation of a member of her team by a force not of this earth, and an actual extraterrestrial - she’s striding purposefully into the hotel bar instead of relaxing on the sinfully high thread-count sheets upstairs.

She spots Ward immediately. If the sloppy way he signals the bartender for a refill is any indication, he’s well on his way to being drunk. That will no doubt cause her some trouble and she’s momentarily distracted from her purpose with thought on just how she’s going to work around it. Naturally, that’s the moment she’s grabbed from behind and dragged into a dark, menacing corner of the bar.

Before she knows what’s what, she’s been plopped down in a chair hidden behind a rather invasive plant and is being stared down by a very irate Fitz and Skye.

“What are you doing?” Fitz asks.

She doesn’t have a chance to answer before Skye breaks in with, “Because it looked like you were about to go over there and try talking to Ward.”

“Well, I-”

“Are you trying to die?” Fitz deadpans.

“He’s already scared off like three super hot girls,” Skye adds, as if that’s somehow helpful. “I think he actually growled at the last one.”

“Four,” Fitz corrects, earning himself a confused look from Skye.

“No. Three. There was the one with the glasses and the one in the disco ball dress and the one whose skirt was so short you could see her underwear.”

“And you.”

Jemma’s fairly certain, given Skye’s snort, that she has completely missed the compliment Fitz just tried to pay her. Poor Fitz. “Yeah, but _I_ wasn’t trying to pick Ward up. I just wanted him to come up to his room before he gets so drunk he starts confusing random civilians with enemy agents.”

Seeing no end to this conversation in sight, Jemma turns in her seat. “Yes, well, I’ll just be getting my blood sample, shall I?”

They both reach for her. Skye manages to get a grip on her sleeve, but Fitz misses and his hand lands on her hip. He hastily presses back into his seat.

“Blood sample?” Skye asks.

Jemma twists the hand Skye’s holding captive. In it, she has the latest prototype for a replacement for the typical syringe. It’s cleaner and faster and, if Fitz can ever get it working past ten uses, will be a great boon to modern medicine. This one is only on its third use, which means it will work fine for getting a sample out of Ward before he can do something silly like throw a punch at her.

“Yeah,” Skye says once Jemma and Fitz have explained the device’s purpose to her, “but he’ll still feel it, right? And there are knives behind the bar. He will totally stab you.”

Jemma removes Skye’s hand from her arm under pretense of giving it a reassuring pat. “Don’t worry, Skye, I am not getting stabbed in the name of science.”

“Have you forgotten the part where Ward is _literally_ going berserk? Like, this is where that word comes from?”

That is, in fact, exactly why Jemma needs to do this. She has blood samples taken one, three, and five hours after his original exposure to the staff and wants matching samples from the same periods after his second exposure. She’s already gotten the first two while they were cleaning up the mess and handing the prisoners over for transport. She also has samples from May, who looked far more composed when Jemma stopped by her room only a few minutes ago. But she still needs a sample from Ward.

“Ward has yet to hurt any of us. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” She leaves before either of them can stop her again.

Ward hasn’t moved during her detour. In fact, the bartender is just pouring him another drink and Jemma is forced to wonder how many he’s finished in the short span of time.

She’s keenly aware of her steps slowing as she approaches him. In spite of what she said, Ward is a very dangerous man who has spent the last hour (assuming he came straight here after Coulson released them onto the hotel) deadening his reflexes. In his current condition, he could attack her, thinking she’s an assailant, and realize the mistake too late to stop himself. What she needs is a way to distract him while she gets her sample.

That horrible Agent Sitwell episode pops into her head. With her record, she’d probably end up trying to compliment the way Ward's eyebrows merge into one giant caterpillar when he gets especially angry. She’d rather not end up shooting him when her attempts at distraction fail. Which is just as well because she left her ICER on the Bus.

Of course, she doesn’t need to convince Ward that she’s not up to something. She only needs him to look the other way for a second or two, and to be too busy looking to attack her. That will be far easier.

He stiffens visibly as she draws nearer and she sees fit to announce herself with a gentle, “Ward?”

He uncurls himself from over his glass just far enough to look at her out of the corner of one eye. “Go away, Simmons.” He curls up again, twisting on his stool so that his back is oriented towards her. She marches around to his other side and holds the prototype at the ready. He hears her coming and levers himself up, his expression dark. He’s going to yell at her again, she just knows it. Since she doesn’t want that and does want her sample, she cuts him off by gripping his shirt in her free hand and pulling them together for a kiss.

As distractions go, it’s likely a terrible cliché, but it works. Ward doesn’t even flinch when she presses the prototype to his forearm. But Jemma certainly does when his other arm wraps around her waist, pulling her between his knees. The prototype nearly slips from her fingers when his hand glides up her back and he begins teasing at her hair. She hastily puts it in her pocket so that she can run her palms over his chest.

He is an extraordinary kisser, which is completely unfair. Good looks and the skill to back them up? Womankind is lucky he’s got the personality of a wet brick most of the time.

“You know,” he says between kisses along her jaw, “a distraction only works if it doesn’t distract you too.”

She stiffens in his arms. Not only was he aware of what she was about, but _she_ was definitely _not_. It’s only now he’s spoken that she remember where they are - a very public place - and who could be watching - Fitz and Skye, not to mention Coulson and May if they happen to come down. This was a very, very bad idea. A burning flush spreads up her chest as she tries to navigate her way out of his arms.

In response, he trails his blunt nails up her spine and bites at the skin just below her ear.

“Your room or mine?” he asks, his voice deliciously rough.

“Skye and Fitz…” It comes out like a whine because there’s a part of her - and she can absolutely identify the specific physical region that part inhabits - that wants to take him back up to her room.

“Don’t care.” He’s making his way lower now. Her top two buttons have been undone without her noticing and he’s pressing his luck by dipping his hand beneath the collar of her sweater to reach the third. She is not stopping him.

“Protocol. Regulations.”

“Don’t care.”

His constant harping on that point is becoming annoying.

“Neither do I,” she confesses. That appears to be all the encouragement he needs.

Before she knows it, he’s dragging her out of the bar and to the elevators while Skye yells, “Make safe choices!” after them. Jemma barely hears her over the sound of her own back slamming against the wall of the elevator. The grin on Ward’s face is heavy with promise and brings her a thrill of pleasure.

Science never sleeps. And tonight, Jemma doesn’t think she’ll do much of that herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the support on this series-thing! All your kudos and comments have been greatly appreciated! And thanks to all the people who originally prompted this mess. <3


End file.
